Crossroads
by J-J-Sawyer-Phillips
Summary: Here is, as promised via tumblr, the original version of the dream sequence that appears in Chapter 7 (Prisons and Problems) of Never Neverland. Some of it will be recognizable, but other bits are quite different. One of the reasons I changed it is because this comes off as very AU and tonally did not fit with the longer piece. Have fun!


"Come on now, princess! Tick tock!" Killian's voice playfully echoes in the grand foyer, bouncing off the pale stone walls. Emma smiles, knowing full well that he'll wait forever if she asks him to. She slips on her riding gloves, the leather softer and smoother than silk. She grabs a hold of either half of her gray riding skirt, lifts them high enough that she won't trip, and runs down the stairs as fast as she dares. When she sweeps around the curve of the massive marbled staircase, he can't help but stare at her. _My princess_. Her golden hair is partly braided into a coronet, the rest tumbles down her back and flows behind her like a banner. Her riding skirt, pants, bodice, and boots are all made in the same soft, twilight silvery-gray. As if he needed reminders of just how rare and precious she is.

Her laugh floats down to him before she does, eyes sparkling and smile bright at seeing him so enchanted, so bewitched. "I'd say you look a vision, love, but you render all words superfluous." He bows over her hand before kissing the backs of her fingers. She lightly slaps him on the shoulder before brushing past him with a swish of her skirts.

"Flatterer… Well? Didn't you mention that we had somewhere to be?" She tosses her head in a fair imitation of her mother at her most imperious and glides out the carved oak doors out into the sunshine. Killian can't help but laugh; Emma acts so light-hearted, so carefree that he is infected by her enthusiasm. It's a side of her that few know exists. As always, he follows wherever she leads him. A pair of servants stand by the heads of the matched set of blood bay Arabians that they prefer when out for a ride. Emma stands next to her mare, Briseis, hands on her hips and toes tapping.

One of the stable hands moves to help her mount, but Killian dismisses him with a flick of his wrist—a commanding gesture he mastered long ago as captain. He kneels down in front of her and cups his palms together, all the while staring directly into her eyes. "My lady." With a grin, she places a hand on either shoulder, leans forward for a quick brush of their lips, and then steps onto the cradle he's made for her foot. A well-practice and coordinated effort gets her settled on Briseis' back, and Killian stifles a laugh when he remembers the first time they attempted it.

"That's right! Let's keep making fun of the woman who grew up where horses were an _out-dated_ form of travel. Don't think I don't know that's why you're smiling, _old man_." His broad smile quickly becomes a wicked grin as he gets up from kneeling. His left hand rises to gently scratch between the mare's ears, while his right travels up Emma's calf and thigh.

"I don't recall hearing any complaints regarding my…advanced age and experience last night, Emma love." She tightens her legs and valiantly tries to stop the shiver of pleasure that his touch always elicits from her body. His smile becomes just a bit smug, reminding her of all the sinfully delicious things he's capable of.

"You keep touching me like this and looking at me like that, and I guarantee we won't be leaving home today." She tries for cold and distant, but her voice is breathy and needy. With another laugh and a quick kiss to her knee, Killian turns around and jumps on to the back of his stallion, Achilles. With a nod, the servants melt back; clicking his tongue and tapping his heels to the horse's flanks, he and Emma set out on the road.

The Enchanted Forest is decked out in the colors of autumn—rich ambers, bright oranges, burnt siennas, and more dangle precariously on their branches. A thick carpet of leaves muffles the clop of horseshoes and a fragrance of light spices drifts up to them from the crushed, dying foliage. They don't talk for quite some time, but then, they really don't need to; it is enough for now that they are both here in this moment together. But when the silence is broken, it is, as usual, Emma who speaks

"So, are you planning on telling me anything, Killian?" His only answer is another mischievous grin; with a nudge, he signals Achilles to increase the pace, leaving Emma and Briseis to catch up as best they can. A shouted, "no fair," reaches his ear and pulls another laugh from him. The vivid tapestry around her becomes an orange blur, as all her focus narrows in on the man and the horse ahead of her. While one part of her brain remains fixed on staying on her horse, another part processes the changes she notices in Killian Jones. He no longer favors all black, except for more formal occasions; today, for instance, his boots and pants are dark brown leather, his linen shirt a pale ivory, and waistcoat that is a few shades paler than his eyes. He's always seemed so alive and vital to her, so she's glad that he's begun to live in colors again.

Emma notices that he and Achilles are starting to slow down, so she pulls back gently on Briseis' reins and quickly comes even with him. "Couldn't keep up with me, love?"

"No. I just liked the view from where I was, thank you very much." She grins at him, a fair imitation of his when he's being his most flirtatious. His face goes serious for a second, an effect he ruins when he runs his tongue across his lower lip. "Oh, now you're just asking for it, Jones!"

"Do your worst, princess! But… after we get home, yes?"He tips his head toward the road, and Emma's gaze swings away from his. A large crowd has gathered at the three-way crossroad up ahead—young children, people Emma's age, and the elderly all stand before a large, rough-hewn slab of granite. The stone itself looks like silver, with veins of black and white running through it.

"There's a bowl of black obsidian glass; you place an offering of food or a silver coin to beg the blessing of the Three Ways. At nightfall, the priest takes the offerings and gives it to the hungry and needy. There's also a silver chalice, with an earth, a moon, and a sun on it, to represent the three worlds—land, sea, and sky. You pour a libation into that, to thank the Three Ways for bringing you safe to journey's ending." Killian's voice all but casts a spell on her, making the simple religious devotions come alive with magic. While explaining all of this to her, two children at the edge of the crowd had begun staring at them. Something tugs at Emma's heart—a longing and a name—_Henry_.

"Emma love, are you alright?" She looks over at him, and she feels another, sharper pain. Suddenly, the children are standing hand in hand in front of the horses. The smaller of the two is a little boy, with messy blonde hair and dark blue eyes; the girl's green eyes shift back and forth between Emma and Killian, partially obscured by her thick black curls. They look at each other before separating and walking up between the horses. The boy comes up and reaches for Emma's right hand; the girl takes hold of Killian's left. The children then bring the adults' hands together, palm to palm.

The only words they say, they speak in unison. "My lord, my lady. Our fate is in your hands." The leaves begin to swirl around the two children, as if a tornado has sprung up out of nowhere. _No, not a tornado—a portal!_ A sickly orange glow appears to form behind them; their arms stretch out to Emma and Killian, and their mouths are open in screams that can't be heard over the roar of magical winds. The boy and girl fly backwards, disappearing from sight.

"NO!"


End file.
